You're my Possession
by
Anime the Fallen Angel
Underlined Italics – means time/ scene notes
Italics – means flashbacks / thoughts
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Chapter 9: Into this night I wander; It's morning that I dread.
Marriage... to Sally. If only there was a way to find Quatre and get him out... but where is he!? It was well past midnight. In a few hours, the Prince of Barton-arms would be getting ready for his wedding to the princess of the Chang Empire.
Wandering the palace corridors alone, Trowa's mind thought to when he and Quatre ran through these very hallways, playing games that no one understood. He allowed his feet to take him places. The music room was one of them. Softly touching the violin, Trowa smiled sadly. Memories were fickle objects; making happy memories hurt with such fervour when there was tragedy abound. Finally, Trowa took his flute out of its case and walked out again.
Trowa found himself out in the garden with his flute, amongst the flowers a few minutes later. Their scent was strong this night; fireflies hopped around, lighting the garden around him. It was enchanting, but Trowa hardly noticed. Lifting his head, Trowa noticed the big round moon. He couldn't help but frown at it. Usually, the moon was filled with mysterious beauty to him; holding the secret of his love for years. Now, it mocked him and the love he had by burning as brightly as it could.
"Quatre..." Trowa whispered, looking down at his boots. "I promise... I won't marry Sally and save you.... somehow..."
With a heavy sigh, Trowa sat on a nearby bench and lifted his flute to his lips and started playing. The same tune he and Quatre were playing not too long ago. Only now, it was lonely and incomplete again. As he played, he watched the fireflies fly higher and around the palace. As he played, he frowned at the moon now shining behind a tower, defying its mockery. Even as he played, his thoughts worried on how he'd avoid the wedding the next day...
******
Quatre wiped his eyes, having cried again that night. Trowa and Sally... Oh God; I'm sorry, Trowa. I should've fought back... Leaning back, Quatre stared out at the moon. The pale light seemed to weep with him and for Trowa. Quatre stared down at his shackled hands and ankles. He had heard about his execution the next day. The crime: theft and indecency to the Prince, issued by the King. Fear iced his stomach every time he thought about it. According to the guards, the minute Trowa had said 'I do', Quatre's head would be rolling. The blonde shuddered.
Quatre lifted his hands to rub his neck, but instead fingered his gag; some sort of metal band to prevent him from calling for help. That made Quatre's hopes dim even more. With no way to call for help or to let Trowa know where he was, what chance had he?
A soft flute melody reached his ears. Trowa's part. Their song. Standing with great difficulty, Quatre stood on tip-toes to look outside the window. It was the first time he realised where exactly he was. The ground was a long way down, overlooking the garden. Didn't think I'd be privileged enough to get a room with a view... Quatre thought sardonically. He scanned the garden. The rose bushes, the neatly kept grass, the well pruned trees... There! Quatre spotted in between two bushes the sitting figure; the silhouette he recognised as Trowa. The flute shone with ethereal light in his hands.
A single tear ran down his eye. Unable to call out or make some sort of signal, he felt his heart ache. He'd be beheaded in the morning, and this will be the last image he'd see of his prince. As beautiful a picture it would make, Trowa's form said something different to Quatre. Sad, forlorn, alone... Quatre didn't want that for Trowa. All too soon, the music ended. Why didn't we make it longer? Quatre thought heavily. Sadly, he watched Trowa rise and walk away, head down. Sinking to the floor, Quatre dropped his eyes. Only a few hours until he was beheaded. Only a few hours until Trowa was wed. Only a few hours now... Only a few hours...
I'm sorry Trowa....